


Find My Place

by ZenonGirlofthe47Agents



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6239371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenonGirlofthe47Agents/pseuds/ZenonGirlofthe47Agents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezzie thinks she's the most ordinary 11 year old in the world. But when a strange man with a wispy white beard hands her a letter on what she thinks is her 11th birthday, claiming she's a witch, she becomes apart of not one, but two worlds she never knew existed. She gains both friends and enemies in both worlds, as well as powers that seem too powerful for just one girl.<br/>As Ezzie becomes the ultimate the tie between the two worlds of Demigod and Wizardry, she finds and uses the strange parallels between two worlds. But as enemies gain more power and wars are inevitable, Ezzie must ask herself if these two seemingly different worlds coincide side by side?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I get a letter

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. It was something I was born as. If I had a choice, I would've lived a normal life without magical powers or a unique heritage.  
Okay, that would mean an early death, so I take that back. But still, I would've saved myself a lot of trouble. But I'm here, and you're here, so I might as well tell you guys what the Hades I'm talking about. But if some of this seems familiar to you, as if you can relate in some odd way, take my advice.   
Run.  
Because you're one of us, and trust me, you don't want to be. So if anything stirs up, run screaming from the pages. Because trust me.  
It's real.  
Don't say I didn't warn you.  
My name is Esmeralda I-don't-know-or-care-about-my-last-name. I'm eleven years old. Until a few days ago, I was a foster kid at Mercy's home for Troubled kids in London, England.  
Am I a troubled kid?  
Yes. I am.  
I'll start with my birthday, well, what was celebrated as the day I was born anyway. No one really knew when it was.  
I should explain, shouldn't I? I was dropped off at the hospital when I was a baby. The doctors found nothing wrong- well I did have Dyslexia and ADHD but we'll get to that later- no physical problems, no scars, I was perfectly healthy, but I was still abandoned. Whatever right? The doctors assumed it had been a teen pregnancy and the mom couldn't take care of me, she just took enough time to say 'Her name is Esmeralda, by the way' then disappear. They did the check-up and found I was approximately a year old, so a nurse looked at the calendar that was decorated with puppies and said "Hey! Let's make her birthday August 22nd!"   
So yeah, let's throw a pity party, hold hands and move on. I stopped caring a long time ago. 

The day was the same as any other, no cake, no balloons, if someone remembered, then they sure fooled me. I wasn't really surprised though, I hadn't exactly made a great impression on Miss. P.  
Miss. P was this wrinkled old lady who had yellow skin, narrowed eyes and a expression of someone who had woken up to the sounds of kids screaming each morning for 30 years. Which she basically had. Miss. P worked at a orphanage for troubled kids, so I lived at an orphanage for troubled kids. I didn't wake up to sun-shine and rainbows, no, I woke up to kids screaming in my face and whipped cream in my hand. Kelli presumingly placing it there. Kelli was pretty much a kid's worst nightmare. She was sixteen, had the complexion of a cheerleader, and was about as nice as python. She hadn't liked me since the day I arrived at the orphanage, which was unfortunate since we were bunkmates. I literally slept right below her.

So yeah, I started the day off with whipped cream to the face. The normal ordeal. "Aw, I'm sorry Esmalamea. Was that dark meat-paw your hand? Don't worry, love, whipped cream is a great moisturizer." I roll my eyes and wipe my face off, then smear the whipped cream in her face. "You little brat!"  
I smile fakely. "Don't worry, Kelli. Whipped cream is a great moisturizer." She grabs my shirt with one hand and lifts me off the ground- I was pretty tiny. Plus, for a cheerleader, she had great strength, great for those last minute take-your-anger-out-on-Ezzie moments.   
"Just because you're the birthday brat, doesn't mean I won't punch you." Kelli hissed, her eyes like fire.  
I smirk. "Gotta catch me first." I say and kick her leg. She drops me with a groan and I dash out of the room, after jumping over a pillow, sleeping kid, and ducking a out swinging arm. Usual routine. I snatch breakfast- a plain piece of toast, no jam- and run out the door in my PJ's at top speed. Miss. P yelling, "get back here Ezzie!(That's what everyone called me) And brush your hair!" I smirk and keep running, I don't stop until I hit the edge of the park, near the cemetery. Knowing Kelli wouldn’t find me. It was the only place I could think, most people found cemeteries disturbing, but I found them peaceful, it was a final resting place after all. Plus, this one had a nice view of a lake and the river that lead into the city. I set my toast down on a bench beside me and I start cleaning the whipped cream out of my brown hair, humming happy birthday under my breath. It took a while, my hair was really curly and running around in the wind hadn't helped. When I got that over with, I grabbed my toast and took a bite, looking at the view and bouncing my knee as I ate. Too bad Miss. P hadn't buttered them at least.  
"Would you like some jam for that?" Someone next to me asked. I looked and saw a man whose age rivaled P's. He had silvery gray hair, a wispy beard, a crooked nose, and half-moon spectacles that hid bright blue eyes.   
I tilted my head and looked at him curiously. I could usually hear people when they came near me, well, except the ghosts, but they didn't crunch the leaves on the ground and weren't even solid, so you couldn't hear them. "Are you a ghost?" I asked him. Fun fact- ADHD meant no filter between my eleven year-old brain and my mouth.   
The man chuckled. "No, I am not a ghost."  
I look down at my feet, embarrassed, my right knee still bouncing. “Oh. Sorry.”  
The man’s eyes twinkled thoughtfully. “Why are you sorry?”  
I looked up and shrugged. “People- the one’s who aren’t ghosts- they don’t like it when I ask that question.”  
“Do you talk to ghosts often?” He asked.   
“Sometimes, they don’t come out during the day very much. But they’re always surprised when I can see them.” I look at the man again, he doesn’t seem to think I’m off my rocker, so I try to get the conversation back on ‘normal’ terms. How do I do this? I say the first typical question that comes into my mind. “I’m Ezzie, what’s your name?”  
“My name is Professor Dumbledore.” He held out his hand for me to shake, which I did, “nice to meet you Ezzie.”  
I look at him sideways. “So you’re not Santa?” The man gave another small chuckle and looked at my toast. “What’s your favorite type of jam?” He asked. I shake my head.  
“I’ve never had any flavor jam. So I can’t pick a flavour can I?”  
“That’s very true, my mistake. Try this flavour.” I expect him to pull a jar or something out of his cloak, but no. He waves his hand and there’s suddenly red jam on my toast.   
“Woah! Are you a magician?” I ask him, my gray-blue eyes sparkling.   
“No. I am a wizard.” He says a matter-of factly. He pulled out an envelope from his cloak. “This is for you, Esmerelda.” I didn’t ask how he knew my name, or say he was crazy. I just take a bite of my toast, now jammed, and look at the the letter. It was written in small cursive and green ink. I didn’t even attempt it. I just stare at it with red cheeks.   
“I- I can’t um-” I stare flusteredly at the letter.  
“Oh, my mistake.” He says looking at the letter and then at me, his eyes twinkling even more so now, as if excited I couldn’t read. He takes back the letter and hands me a different one. “Here. Sorry about that, I’m getting old. Minds not as sharp as it use to be.” I take the second letter and I can read it without fault. Which surprised me, since I usually had some problem reading words at one degree or another. I feel a little more confident in the letter and I take a second to look at the wax seal on the yellow parchment paper. It was a lion, a snake, a badger, and a raven. All surrounding a letter H. I carefully tear open the letter. Surprisingly I could read the inside lettering as well. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  
Dear Miss. Asra,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1.   
Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress

I stare at the writing for a while. Not saying anything. My mind was swimming with questions. Finally I ask one. “My last name is… Asra?” Yeah, I know. Of all the questions I could ask, of all the things I should find crazy about this, I find my last name to be the craziest. The man chuckled. “Yes, it means ‘travel by night’.”  
“I like the night. So I’m accepted into your school? I didn’t apply.” I say.  
“It’s not a school you apply to.” Dumbledore said patiently.   
“Is it far away? I don’t know if I can pay for bus fare everyday.”  
“It’s a boarding school.” He assures me. I enjoy the idea of not living under Kelli- who snores like a donkey- for seven months.  
“I cannot afford books or anything.” I continue.  
“I’m sure there’s something that can be managed. A school fund is provided to students who cannot afford books, but your mother may have set aside some money for you.” He stood up slowly.   
“Wait. You knew my mother?” I ask quickly.  
Dumbledore looked at me sadly, the same way everyone else did when they found out I was an orphan. “That- is a topic for another time. Shall we go back to the foster home so I can talk to Miss. P?” I shrug and place the letter in the pocket of my pjs. Following Dumbledore to the orphanage while eating my toast, the jam was raspberry as I found out later. “And Ezzie.” I look up at the professor. “Let’s not mention it’s a wizarding school to anyone. Wouldn’t want to make the other children jealous.” I nod. Knowing that was grown-up code talk for ‘no normal person can know about witches or wizards.' But it did explain a lot of the weird things that happened in my life.   
For example, last Tuesday, I had been sitting in summer school, looking at the rain outside the window and thinking about the park and how nice it would be to just find a cave and watch the rain fall from the sky, when suddenly BAM! I was in a cave about a quarter of a mile from the park, facing the graveyard and watching the rain as it cleaned away the grime of the headstones. I got expelled for that though, but it was worth it. Or when I had gone on a third grade field trip with the foster home to the zoo. We walked into the reptile room, and I started having a conversation with a snake! It was a corn snake we got to take turns petting. I had told him how Kelli had taken my lunch earlier and the snake snapped at her. I was blamed of course, Miss. P reacting to the scene as I was a demon child and saying I had used ‘strange hissings’ to egg the snake on. I wasn’t allowed on anymore trips after that, Miss. P still calling me demon child whenever something as small as the power going out occurred. I thought about how she would react to being told that 

“Are we going to tell Miss. P?”  
Dumbledore shook his head. “I do not believe she needs to know.”  
“Okey dokey.”   
****  
Dumbledore talked to Miss. P for about an hour, there was a lot of shouting from Miss. P. Words like ‘devil child’ and ‘freak’ came up, so I assumed the conversation was going fabulously. The other kids had stopped playing to listen in on the conversation, never missing an opportunity to listen to Miss. P rant and rave about ‘that dark skinned witch!’ Looking at it, I couldn’t help but smile at how right she was. Personally I didn’t care what Dumbledore said to Miss. P, all I knew I was going to leave the orphanage, I was going to a boarding school! I wondered if it was far away, I had never left London. It would be exciting to experience a change of scenery. I sat on my bottom bunk, leaning against my pillow and rereading the letter, savoring my new-found ability to read just as well as everyone else. Finally, Professor Dumbledore came into the dorm room. “My my, your little friends are quite noisy, they were leaning against the door, trying to hear the conversation between me and Miss. P.”  
“Their not my friends. And I don’t know why they were leaning against the door, people in Winchester could probably hear her yelling.”  
Dumbledore smiled. “Yes, she does seem to enjoy the attention. Nevertheless, she’s allowing you to go. She seemed happy it was a boarding school.”  
I huffed. “Yeah. She would.”  
Professor Dumbledore looked at a pocket watch and frowned slightly. “I need to be somewhere. Would you do me a favor, Ezzie? It’s very important.” I nod vigorously.  
He takes an envelope out of his cloak and kneels down so he’s eye-level with me. “Someone will stop by to take you shopping for your school supplies in about a week. His name is Hagrid, would you please give this to him for me? Make sure he reads it first thing when he picks you up, alright?” I nod and take the envelope. Feeling as if I was given the most important task in the world. This man was trusting me, and I felt that was a very high honor.  
“I’ll make sure he reads it. First thing.” I assure him.   
Dumbledore smiles. “Thank-you Ezzie. I must be off. It was nice meeting you.” And with that, he walks out of the room, and I could feel the eyes of the other kids in the orphanage follow him as he leaves.


	2. Everyone keeps calling me Cara

About five days pass before the orphanage gets it’s second strange visitor. Since that time, things relatively carried on as they did before, except for one thing that made the orphanage a little bit more bearable. Kelli ran away. She had gone to summer school along with most of the other kids, except she hadn’t come back. Miss. P discussed it with the Police, flyers were put up, but she had simply just disappeared. I felt a little bad she was gone, but it certainly made it easier to hold onto Professor Dumbledore’s special envelope.   
Speaking of the envelope, I carried it everywhere, as if it were a medal of trust or valor. To me, it was a reminder I was apart of bigger world than the one I knew. Plus, I had a mother, and she wasn’t just this unattainable apparition anymore. I could potentially find out more about her, someone had to know about her. The envelope felt like a key to everything I had been asking myself for years. I was determined not to let it go.   
I had just finished washing the stairs when the knock came. I was closest, so I went ahead and opened it before, some random kid opened it, screamed in the person’s face and sprayed them with pan oil. I unlock the door and open it. “Hello.” I say brightly, and then my mouth drops. A giant of a man was standing in the doorway. His face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, he had dark eyes that were almost completely hidden under his hair. He was at least three times my size, towering over even the door.  
He looked stunned to see me.  
“C-Cara?” He asked. “H-how are you-” He tried to attack me-- or maybe it was a hug-- either way I yelp and jump back out of the way.  
“My name isn’t Cara.” I say, surprisingly calm for someone who just almost got bear hugged by someone who looked a lot like a bear. “My name’s Ezzie.” I regard him again, if anyone was from the wizarding world, it was this guy. “Are you Hagrid?” I ask him. The giant- which was the most accurate thing I could think to call him- still gaping at me as if I had just grown a second head, nodded. I smile and take the letter from my sweater, my petite hand looking even smaller compared to his, which was the size of breakfast plate. “This is for you. Dumbledore said to give it to you.” He takes the letter and opens it. His eyes grow wider as he reads it. I stare at my feet until I see someone is standing behind him. He had jet black hair, looked around my age, wearing extremely baggy clothes, and had the most startling green eyes.  
“Hi.” He says, stepping out from behind Hagrid and holding out his hand. “I’m Harry.”  
I give his hand a light shake. “Esmeralda, but everyone calls me Ezzie.”  
“Are you a wizard too?” He asks.  
“The term that was used was witch, but yeah, I guess.” I say shrugging. I look back at Hagrid, who still looked like he had trouble comprehending the letter.   
Harry turned and followed my gaze. “Um… what was in that letter?”  
I shrug. “Beats me, Dumbledore just said to give it to him first thing.”  
Harry studied me apprehensively. “You’ve met Dumbledore?”  
I nod. “Yeah.” But when I think about it, I’m surprised by it myself. Dumbledore was clearly an important person, so why would he take time out of his busy schedule to give me a letter?   
“Alright’ alright’, I- er- So Esmeralda- er, Ezzie, we’re goin’ to get yer and ‘Arry’s books.” He stuttered a lot, and didn’t seem to be able to meet my eyes.   
“Okay.” I step outside and shut the door behind me. “Let’s go.”  
Hagrid looks surprised. “Shouldn’t ya’ let someone know yer’ leavin’?” He asked.  
I scoff. “Nah, Miss. P won’t know or care I’m gone.”   
“Alright’." Hagrid said, not sound particularly alright. "Yer’ got yer’ letter?” I nodded. “Alright’, then we’re off.” 

By ‘off’ he meant walking 9 blocks to the London underground. A lot of people stared at Hagrid while he was walking, but that was understandable, seeing as he was twice as tall as a full grown adult. Also because he would point out the most ordinary things such as a traffic cone and say “Crikey, the things muggles dream up, ey’, ‘Arry. Ezzie.” Neither me nor Harry responded, mainly because both of us had to jog to keep up with Hagrid, who took enormous steps.  
“Hagrid?” Harry panted, struggling to keep up with Hagrid. “Did you say there was dragons at Gringotts?”  
“Well they say so.” Hagrid said, somewhat oblivious to the fact that Harry and I were pink-cheeked from trying to keep up. “I’d like a dragon.” Hagrid added as an afterthought.  
I stared up at him. “You’d like a dragon?”  
“Been wantin’ one ever since I was a kid-- Ah! ‘Ere we go!” We went belowground, and I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, I walked straighter, and I could feel an extra bounce in my step.   
“You okay, Ezzie?” Harry asked.   
I nod, grinning like an idiot. “Yeah, I’m just excited, I guess. I’ve never been on the underground.” Harry looked at me a little weirdly, which was understandable. 30 feet below ground with solid rock in between us and I was excited? Hagrid sent me and Harry to get the tickets for downtown, since he didn’t understand ‘Muggle money’ as he put it. “What’s a muggle?” I ask Harry as we stand in line.   
“Non-magical folk.” He replied. I made a O shape with my mouth, then grinned. “What?” He asked.  
“I was just thinking about how Kelli would react if I called her a ‘muggle’.” I said giggling. “She would throw a hissy fit.” Harry and I burst out laughing. We got our tickets- well, more like Harry got the tickets and I stood there awkwardly trying to read the signs, I guess the spell Dumbledore used had worn off or something- and walked back to Hagrid, easily finding him in the crowd.  
“How come Hagrid called you, Cara?” Harry asked as we fought the crowd of people trying to get around.   
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I look like someone he knew?”  
“Like your mom?” Harry asked.  
I sigh. “I wouldn’t know. I never met her.”   
“Oh.” Harry said finally.   
“But that’s why I’m looking forward to Hogwarts,” I say brightly, not wanting to put Harry down in the dumps. “Someone’s got to know something about her.”   
Harry nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing about my parents, they died when I was one. And my Aunt and Uncle don’t like talking about them.” I nod in silence, I knew the whole ‘oh that’s sad’ routine that people pulled, and it just sucked, and it never felt real. So instead, I keep quite. We finally get back to Hagrid, having battled the crowd to get back to him.  
Hagrid took up two seats all by himself on the train, and it occurred to me how weird it must’ve looked from a muggles perspective. A big man knitting with carnal yellow yarn while two small kids sat on either side of him. What was a person to think? I kept playing with my skirt, I tried to keep still, but I couldn’t. I hoped Harry would just think it was nerves, I wasn’t a big fan of the whole ‘I have ADHD’ speech, it just seemed to put people around me on edge, as if they were expecting me to fling a knife across the room. “Yer both stil’ got yer’ letters?” Hagrid asked Harry and I. We both nodded and I took my letter out. Once again, I could read it just fine.   
“How?” I muttered to myself.  
Harry looked over Hagrid at me. “What’s wrong, Ezzie?” He asked concerned.  
“I, um-” I didn’t want to tell him I was Dyslexic, it would just make him pity me even more than I felt he did. “I just have a headache.” I lie.  
Harry looks at Hagrid like he expects him to do something, but he was preoccupied with his knitting so instead Harry gives me a reassuring smile. “Didn’t worry, we’re almost there.” I return the smile quickly and look down at my letter.   
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY  
UNIFORM  
First-year students will require:  
1\. Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
2\. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
3\. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
4\. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS  
All students should have a copy of each of the following:  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT  
1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope set  
1 brass scales  
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad  
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS  
“We can get all this in London?” I ask Hagrid.  
"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid. Hagrid seemed to know more or less where he was going, though he was obviously not used to getting there the muggle way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and Harry and I had to help him, and complained loudly that the seats were too small, the trains were slow, and they always seemed to be late.  
"I don't know how you two managed livin’ like muggles all yer life," he huffed under his breath as we made a quick climb up a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.   
Hagrid’s size made the crowd part easily, so all Harry and I had to do was stay behind him as he walked- out of breath from the broken escalator no doubt- down a street with ordinary shops like book stores- again, no progress whatsoever on the reading- a piano shop, restaurants, and even cinemas. The streets were filled with ordinary people, and they were all carrying out ordinary business. Yet I could tell there was wizard gold beneath all of it, as if the presence of the precious gems and metals sifted through the ground and filled me with a sense of their existence. “Ezzie.”  
I turn and see I walked straight past Harry and Hagrid, who had stopped. I curse my ADHD for the billionth time and run over to them   
“Sorry, a little distracted.” I apologize. Harry looked up at the sign of a tiny, grubby-looking pub. I watched the letter peel off the sign and fly away as I tried to read it It reminded me of the orphanage. Even after Hagrid had pointed it out, I still walked straight past it. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big grocery store on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. Hagrid ushered me and Harry inside the great oak door and the sounds of the street was shut off.  
The place was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking from tiny glasses. One of them was smoking a long pipe. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was quite bald and looked like a toothless walnut. The low buzz of chatter stopped when they walked in. Everyone seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"  
“Not today, Tom. I’m on ‘Ogwarts business.” Placing a meaty hand each on both Harry and I each. Causing me to yelp and Harry to almost fall forward. Tom looked between Harry and I and did the slightest of double takes.   
"Good Lord," said the bartender, peering at Harry and I, "is this -- can this be -- ? Cara?” He whispered. The low buzz of the Leaky Cauldron had trickled away.   
“This is Ezzie, Tom.” Hagrid said to Tom in a somewhat stern tone, that said ‘drop it’.   
“Right, of course. My mistake.” Tom then sees Harry, and his eyes are bright once more. “Harry Potter, such an honor.” He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand, tears in his eyes. “Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back." It was as if I was no longer there. There was a great scraping of chairs and suddenly everyone was shaking Harry’s hand and acting as if he were famous. In between the hand shakes and squeaks that reminded me of Kelli mooning over celebrity photos, I shot Harry a look of surprise. He didn’t seem to know either, he just shrugged as he shook the hand of a man in a top hat for the seventh time. I stood out of the way with Hagrid. “What’s all that about?” I ask him.   
“Harry’s sort of famous in the wizard world, he survived a killing curse.” I raise an eyebrow and can’t help but see both Harry and the wizarding world in a new light. There was a killing curse? And Harry survived it? That didn’t seem like something that should exist if every wizard and witch could learn and execute it as they pleased. The crowd didn’t seem to be thinning out, a man with a really bad eye twitch and a turban. "Professor Quirrell!" said Hagrid, bounding back up to Harry and pulling me along. I was starting to get uncomfortable with the crowd, I admit I wasn’t use to so many people looking at me. "Harry, Ezzie, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts."  
"P-P-Potter," stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you."  
"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" I asked.  
"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously. "You'll both be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought. But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. “Why don’t ya go wait by that back door over there. ‘Arry and I will be along in a momen’.” Hagrid whispers to me. I nod and walk away from the crowd. Watching the scene continue to unfold. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.  
"Must get on -- lots ter buy. Come on, Harry." Doris Crockford shook Harry's hand one last time, and Hagrid led Harry to the back of the bar where I was standing and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds. Hagrid grinned at Harry. “What I tell ya ‘Arry? Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ in your sight. Mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”  
“Is he always that nervous?” I ask."Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin' outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience... They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o' trouble with a hag -- never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject -- now, where's me umbrella?"  
Vampires? Hags? My mind felt like it was swimming in words I didn’t understand, which of course pulled my brain in about 17 directions. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting bricks in the wall above the trash can.  
"Three up... two across... " he muttered. "Right, stand back, you two." He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella. The brick he had touched quivered -- it wriggled -- in the middle, a small hole appeared -- it grew wider and wider -- a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.  
"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley."


	3. I'm going Mad

It was as if I had stepped into a parallel world.   
The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop, all different shapes and sizes and as one witch demonstrated, collapsible.   
"Yeah, you'll both be needin' one of those," said Hagrid, "but we gotta get yer money first."  
My brain was pulled in about a million directions as I turned my head in every direction as we walked up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping, I admit I was sort of eavesdropping as well. It was all just so exciting. A plump woman outside what must’ve been a wizard grocer was shaking her head as they passed, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop that must’ve held pets, I admit I was a little curious to check it out. Several boys of the same age as me had their noses pressed against a window with broomsticks in it. "Look," I heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand -- fastest ever -- " I tried to get a look, but I knew if I stopped I would lose the others wandering around. There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and strange silver instruments I had never seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon...  
"Gringotts," said Hagrid. We’d reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was-- there was only one thing it could be-- A gobin. He was about a head shorter than me and had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bowed as they walked inside. Now they were facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved upon them:

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid in an undertone to me and Harry. A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors and they were in a vast marble hall. About a hundred more goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales, examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of these. We walked up to the front counter.  
"Morning," said Hagrid to a free goblin. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr. Harry Potter's safe, and Miss. Esmeralda Asra’s safe." The goblin stared down at us.  
"You have their keys, sir?"  
"Got them here somewhere," said Hagrid, and he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of moldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers. The goblin wrinkled his nose. I watched the goblin on their right weighing a pile of rubies as big as glowing coals. "Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up two tiny golden keys. The goblin looked at it closely.  
"That seems to be in order."  
"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," said Hagrid importantly, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." He took out the parcel I had given him earlier, but pulled another letter out of that and handed it to the goblin. The goblin read the letter carefully, his eyes narrowing ever more slightly as he read.  
"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to the vaults. Griphook!"  
Griphook was yet another goblin. Once Hagrid had crammed all the dog biscuits back inside his pockets, we followed the goblin toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry asked.  
"Can't tell yeh that," said Hagrid mysteriously. "Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that." Griphook held the door open for them. I had expected more of a marble corridor, but instead we were in a narrow stone passageway lit with flaming torches. It sloped steeply downward and there were little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistled and a small cart came hurtling up the tracks toward us. We climbed in, Harry first, then me, then Hagrid with some difficulty. And at top speed, we were off.  
At first we just hurtled through a maze of twisting passages that seemed like a rollercoaster and not a bank vault. I tried to remember, left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, but it was impossible, I kept looking around at the depths below, but I was strangely never once scared. The rattling cart seemed to know its own way, because Griphook wasn't steering. Magic, I thought. I don’t think it will ever cease to amaze me.

I was determined to keep my eyes open, which was hard since they stung as the cold air rushed past. Once, I would’ve sworn I saw a burst of fire at the end of a passage and twisted around to see if it was a dragon, but too late, the only thing managed was Harry getting a face full of my hair as I whipped my head back to look -- we plunged even deeper, passing an underground lake where huge stalactites and stalagmites grew from the ceiling and floor.

"I never know," Harry called to Hagrid and I over the noise of the cart, "what's the difference between a stalagmite and a stalactite?"  
"Stalagmites grow upward from the ground," I say immediately. "Stalactites grow like icicles downward."  
“Wow, how’d you know that?” Harry asked.   
“I uh- learned about it somewhere I guess.” Truth was, I wasn’t really sure how I knew that, I’d never learned about that in school as far as I know. I must’ve just been subconsciously listening or something.  
When we finally stopped, Hagrid- looking very green- got out and leaned against a wall to stop himself from trembling. “Mr. Potter’s safe.” Griphook announced, unlocking the door. I stood back, knowing I shouldn’t peak in at something that wasn’t mine. Even still, my hands tingled, as if I could sense what was behind the vault. I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling dizzy, I heard Harry gasp. And I could tell why. Okay, this is gonna sound beyond crazy, but even with my eyes shut and a dizzy feeling I could sense the gold and silver inside. A good ton of each of the precious metals. “Ezzie, are you alright?” I heard Harry’s voice ask, but he sounded far away.   
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” I say, trying to pull myself back to reality. I open my eyes, Harry still looked skeptical.  
“Dizzy from the cart ride?” He asked. “Why don’t you sit on the end this time? It might make it a bit better.” I didn’t mind the cart ride, but I take Harry’s offer because it was better than explaining I was going crazy because I could feel the gold in his safe vault.  
"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained as we climbed into the cart. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough." He turned to Griphook. "Ezzie’s vault now please. And can we go more slowly?"  
"One speed only," said Griphook, though he looked smug with the fact.

We were going even deeper now and gathering speed. The air became colder and colder as we hurtled round tight corners. I admit I was gripping the side of the cart pretty tightly. I think there was a slight lack of oxygen too, because my eyes were playing tricks on me. I saw frost forming on the wood around where I was gripping the side of the cart. We stopped again and all got out. “Miss. Asra’s safe.” Griphook said. He unlocked it and I peered into the vault. There wasn’t nearly as much as Harry’s, but I didn’t care. There was still a lot, plenty to get me through school and maybe even beyond that. I just grabbed two small handfuls of each of the silver, bronze, and gold coins and let Griphook shut the door again. Harry let me sit on the end again. Continuing to gain depth and speed, my fingers tingling from the darkness and metals. I wasn’t even gonna deny it, I was crazy, even for wizarding standards. Maybe it’s just an ADHD thing, yeah that was it, my brain was thinking of so many things at once that it was stressing me out. We went rattling over an underground ravine, and I leaned over the side to try to see what was down at the dark bottom, but Harry pulled me back in and gave me a look like I was crazy. Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.

"Stand back," said Griphook importantly. He stroked the door gently with one of his long fingers and it simply melted away. "If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," said Griphook.  
"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" I asked.  
"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. I gulped, thinking about the poor soul that would have that on there record for judgement. Wait, what?  
Okay, I was going crazy.  
Something really extraordinary had to be inside this top security vault. I leaned forward and looked over, expecting to see fabulous jewels at the very least -- but at first it looked empty. Then I saw a grubby little package wrapped up in brown paper lying on the floor. Hagrid picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. I longed to know what it was, but knew better than to ask. It’s a stone, I think in the back of my mind, a rare one.  
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid. One wild cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight outside Gringotts. Harry seemed quite excited to run around spending his money, his steps had become noticeably lighter, and he was grinning broadly. "Might as well get yer uniforms," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, Ezzie, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." He did still look a bit sick, so we agreed and Harry and I entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling slightly nervous. Madam Malkin was a squat, smiling witch dressed all in mauve.  
"Hogwarts, dearies?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here -- another young man being fitted up just now, in fact." In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry and I on stools next to him and a long robe slipped over my head, Madam Malkin began to pin it to the right length.  
"Hello," said the boy, as I was right next to him, "Hogwarts, too?" I nodded.  
"Yes," said Harry, noting my lack of talking.  
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. "Then I'm going to drag them off to took at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." I raised an eyebrow, this guy reminded me way too much of those snot kids from school.  
"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on.  
"No," said Harry.  
"Play Quidditch at all?"  
"No," Harry said again.  
"I do -- Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree.” I scoff, but quickly pass it off as a cough. This kid had a bigger ego than Kelli. The boy regarded me, so I guess I didn’t convince him with my cough. “Know what house you'll be in yet?" He asked me.  
“No, not yet.” I say in a would-be confident voice. Like I knew what I was saying.  
"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been -- imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"  
“I don’t think a house is all that important, so no.” I say coldly. He didn’t seem to pick up on my tone.  
"I say, look at that man!" said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and I and pointing at three large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.  
"That's Hagrid," said Harry, sounding pleased to know something the boy didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."  
"Oh," said the boy, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"  
"He's the gamekeeper," corrected Harry. I could tell he was getting a little annoyed with this boy as well.  
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage -- lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."  
"I think he's brilliant," I say coldly.  
"Do you?" said the boy, with a slight sneer at me. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?"

Harry’s PoV

"They're dead," Ezzie growls at him. I shiver at the darkness in her voice, I swear the temperature drops, just like it did in the bank earlier. I silently hope that the robes don’t take much longer, I didn’t know much about Ezzie, I felt she had lied to me a few times since we met this morning, but I didn’t want to pull her off this guy when she clobbered him. Not because he was a prat and probably deserved it, but because she would probably get in big trouble for doing so.   
"Oh, sorry," said the boy, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were our kind, weren't they?" Ezzie just shrugs. Which just seems to annoy him more. "I really don't think they should let the other sort in? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine-”  
“I didn’t hear about Hogwarts until about five days ago.” She shoots at the boy. Okay, now I really wished that the robes were finished, because Ezzie looked ready to slap a boy, and it wasn’t gonna be me.  
The boy didn’t really seem to know or care. “I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?" Before Ezzie could answer- probably to tell the boy he can take his surname and shove it- Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, dearies." Harry, not sorry for an excuse to stop talking to the boy, grabbed Ezzie and hopped down from the footstool.  
"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy.   
“Yeah, whatever.” Ezzie snarls as we leave.

 

Ezzie’s PoV  
“What was that about, Ezzie?” Harry asked me as we sat outside in the sun, eating ice cream that Hagrid had bought Harry and I. Harry chocolate and raspberry with chopped nuts and me a rocky road.   
I shrugged. “I don’t know, just something about that boy rubbed me the wrong way.” We stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry cheered me up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed color as you wrote. When we’d had left the shop, he asked "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"  
"Blimey, Harry, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know -- not knowin' about Quidditch!"  
"Don't make us feel worse," said Harry. He told Hagrid about the pale boy in Madam Malkin's, he put a lot of emphasis on my previous sass as well. "-- and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in--"  
"Yer not from a Muggle family, neither of you. If he'd known who yeh were, Ezzie. If he’d known who you parents were, he’d been shakin’ in his boots!”   
“Why?” I ask suddenly. “Who are my parents?” Hagrid clears his throat and turns to Harry.  
“You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh.”  
“Wait, Hagrid. Do you know about my parents? Did you know them?” I demand.   
Hagrid gave me the pity face. “It’s not important, Ezzie. Please just leave it alone.” I was about to argue, but then I saw the look on Hagrid’s face and I knew to drop it. He looked like he was going to cry. “Anyway, what does that boy know about it, some o' the best magic I ever saw was preformed by muggleborns -- look at yer mum, ‘Arry! Look what she had fer a sister!"  
"So what is Quidditch?" I ask, not really in the mood to discuss family trees anymore if I wasn’t getting answers.  
"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like -- like soccer in the Muggle world -- everyone follows Quidditch -- played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls -- sorta hard ter explain the rules."  
"And what are Slytherin and Hufflepuff?" Harry asked, picking up my haste for a subject change.  
"School houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but--"  
"I bet I'm in Hufflepuff," said Harry gloomily.  
"Better Hufflepuff than Slytherin," said Hagrid darkly. "There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."  
"Vol-, sorry -- You-Know-Who was at Hogwarts?"  
“Wait, who?” I ask. Hagrid rubs the back of his neck. He explained who Voldemort or ‘You-Know-Who’ was. A psychotic mass murderer who I guessed killed Harry’s parents. I didn't bring this up, but it explained Harry's fame.

Our next stop was to buy school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books as large as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of peculiar symbols and a few books with nothing in them at all. I let Harry lead me through the place and I just got a copy of whatever he got, since it gave me a headache as the words flew off the pages of books and around the room. What was it going to be like at Hogwarts? I thought. Did they have a special project for students with Dyslexia, or was I thrown into the same room as everyone else and was just expected to try harder? At least Harry seemed to be enjoying himself, Hagrid had to drag him away from a sector of the store that was dedicated entirely to Hexes and Curses.  
"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."  
"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level." It didn’t take much to know Harry wasn’t being very smart with his newfound money. Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either ("It says pewter on yer list"), but we both got a nice set of scales for weighing potion ingredients and a collapsible brass telescope each. Then there was the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. While Hagrid asked the man behind the counter for a supply of some basic potion ingredients for Harry and I, I went to examine silver unicorn horns at twenty-one Galleons each and minuscule, glittery-black beetle eyes (five Knuts a scoop).

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked the lists again.  
"Just yer wands left -- A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh both a birthday present." Harry and I turned red. "You don't have to--"  
"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yah both an animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at -- an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yah both an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."  
“It’s your birthday today?” I asked Harry.  
“Yeah. Your’s too?” He asked. I shrugged.  
“I don’t know. I just got dropped at a hospital some random day.” I reply.  
Twenty minutes later, we’d left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, fast asleep with her head under her wing. Myself a dark colored screech owl with silver beak, she studied her surroundings for a little while then fell asleep. Harry and I couldn't stop stammering thank-yous to Hagrid, sounding just like Professor Quirrell.

"Don' mention it," said Hagrid gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents at yer homes’. Just Ollivanders left now -- only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand." A magic wand... this was what I had been really looking forward to the most. The last shop was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as we stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that Hagrid sat on to wait. I felt strangely as though we’d entered a very strict library.  
"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. I jumped. Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair. An old man was standing before Harry and I, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Mr. Potter. Miss. Asra.” It wasn't a question. He studied me. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Nine and a quarter inches long, unicorn hair, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. And I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.

"Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it -- it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. I felt I needed to pull Harry back if he got any closer for fear Harry would topple over.  
"And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched a lightning scar on Harry's forehead that I hadn't noticed before with a long, white finger.

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..." He shook his head and then, to mine and Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again... Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"  
"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.  
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" said Mr. Ollivander, suddenly stern.  
"Er -- yes, they did, yes," said Hagrid, shuffling his feet. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.  
"But you don't use them?" said Mr. Ollivander sharply.  
"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. I noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.  
"Hmmm," said Mr. Ollivander, giving Hagrid one last piercing look. "Well, now -- Mr. Potter, Miss. Asra. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"  
"Er -- well, I'm right-handed," said Harry. I nodded in agreement.  
"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. Doing the same with me. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance-” I pretty much blank after that. I had suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between my nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.  
"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. just take it and give it a wave."  
Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr. Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once. He have me the wand, same result of absolutely nothing. There was no tingle, no warmth, nothing.  
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try--" Harry tried -- but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr. Ollivander. Ditto for me. "No, no -- here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

Harry tried. And I tried. I wished I had an idea of what Mr. Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, I felt a little bad, since he was going to have to put all of these was after, but the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.  
"Tricky customers, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere -” He pulled out two wand this time, studied the boxes and looked back at Harry and I. “- I wonder, now -- yes, why not -” He came back over and handed us each a wand, the light in his gray eyes as bright as ever. “- unusual combination -- holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." He handed the wand to Harry. “And Miss. Asra, pine and phoenix feather, thirteen inches, strong.”  
I took the wand, feeling like this wand would be no different than the others. Then, I felt a sudden warmth in my fingers. I raised the wand above my head, and brought it swishing down through the dusty air. Harry’s wand and my wand produced streams of red and silver sparks that shot from the ends like fireworks, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put the wands back into the boxes and wrapped them in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious…”  
"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare.   
"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave two other feathers -- just two more. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for your wand when its brother -- why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry swallowed.  
“And- and the other feather?” Harry asked.  
Mr. Ollivander looked at the boxes again. “The third feather, resides in Miss. Asra’s wand.” I looked at Harry, who was thinking what I was thinking, our wand cores were identical.  
"Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you both, Mr. Potter and Miss. Asra... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things -- terrible, yes, but great." I shivered. I wasn't all that sure I liked Mr. Ollivander too much. We paid seven gold Galleons for our wands, and Mr. Ollivander bowed us from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as we made our way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, and back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry and I didn't speak much, or at all as we walked down the road; I didn't pay attention to how much people were gawking at us on the Underground, laden as we were with all our funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap, or the dark screech owl on my lap. Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; I honestly only realized where we were when Hagrid tapped me on the shoulder.  
"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said. He bought Harry and I a hamburger and some fries and we sat down on plastic seats to eat them. I keep looking around. My fingers still tingled from the thought of all those valuables buried under London, it gave me a headache. Everything looked so strange, somehow.  
"You all right, Ezzie? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid. I wasn't sure I could explain. How do you explain that you could sense precious metals and jewels? That you know what was in a vault without even seeing the contents? Because I could, I knew, without a doubt, that it was a stone of some sort in Hagrid’s pocket. “I have a headache. I think it’s just-” I sighed. “I don’t know. The shock of it all I guess.”  
Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"I know it’s gotta’ be a lot ter’ take in. Don' you worry, Ezzie. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. Both of yah. I know it's hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts -- I did -- still do, 'smatter of fact." Hagrid helped Harry and I on to the train that would take him back to his Aunt and Uncle’s, and me to the orphanage, then handed us an envelope each. 

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts, " he said. "First o' September -- King's Cross -- it's all on yer ticket. See yeh both soon, Harry. Ezzie." The train pulled out of the station. Harry and I talked until, all too soon, we pulled up to my stop.  
“See you on the train.” Harry said. I nodded.  
“Definitely.” I reply. “See ya Harry!” And I start walking back to the orphanage.


End file.
